


Certain Expectations

by mldrgrl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Babyfic, F/M, PTSD, Pregnancy, Romance, William - Freeform, post-ep: My Struggle IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 20:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14269359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: A sequel to Unexpected and an epilogue for My Struggle IV





	Certain Expectations

It’s hard to pinpoint the moment that things changed, if there was a moment at all.  If Mulder thought it was a matter of postpartum depression, he could deal with that, but the truth was, it started during the pregnancy and has just extended itself past the birth.  Outwardly, for all intents and purposes, nothing seemed to be amiss, but he knew better. Something was wrong.

 

When Scully told him she was pregnant, it took awhile for the reality of it to sink in.  It was a confusing time. They had just lost their son, and if that wasn’t bad enough, Skinner was dead, and Monica Reyes was also dead.  The body of that cigarette smoking bastard was pulled out of the water and only two days later, as Mulder watched, burned down to a pile of ashes that would sit unclaimed in the office of a crematorium for the next year to be buried en masse with all the other unclaimed bags of ash.

 

As there was no one else to see to it, Mulder took charge of the arrangements for Skinner, burying his boss in Arlington amongst other noble and fallen heroes.  When Kersh showed up, an act Mulder knew was purely out of duty and not heartfelt condolence, he took the opportunity to throw both his and Scully’s badges at the deputy director’s feet in lieu of a formal resignation.  Both were lock-jawed and silent, their cold stares at each other said enough. 

 

It was easier than Mulder thought it would be to stop working.  He had more than enough money from the liquidation of his parents assets to support himself, Scully, and the baby.  If neither of them held a job again, they would still be financially secure. The clippings on his desk went untouched and gathered dust.  His interest in the unexplained and the conspiracy theory du jour came to an abrupt halt.

 

They waited for news of William’s body, but it was never recovered.  For weeks, Scully jumped every time the phone rang, but it was always doctors calling about appointments or robots calling about refinancing the mortgage they didn’t have.  She was the first though, at the end of her first trimester, to roll over and face him in the middle of a sleepless night, and tell him that for her own sake, and for that of the baby, she needed to let go.  Because, despite what she had said on that pier, William was all she thought about.

 

After that, they stopped tiptoeing around happiness.  Mulder didn’t know it at the time, but he had been waiting for Scully’s permission to move out of his own grief and start thinking about the baby.  

 

Scully had just started to show a little bit.  There was a slight curve to the once flat plane of her stomach.  Mulder would run his hand over it in the dark and make silent promises to do better this time around.  To be there, no matter what. He vowed to throw out the junk in his office and turn it into a nursery. He read out loud from a children’s book of Greek mythology while Scully listened, both amused and impatient, as he explained that the fetus can hear sound from inside the womb and it’s important for The Little Kumquat, The Little Peapod, The Little Avocado (he also read about the comparative sizes of a fetus from conception to birth) to know his voice.

 

He held Scully’s hand through endless appointments.  They held their breath together for results of blood tests that came back clear, much to their relief.  They laughed through tears at the watery and quick thumpthumpthump sound of the baby’s heartbeat. They stared in awe at the succession of ultrasound photos that were clipped to the refrigerator, trying to make out arms from legs and head from tail.

 

Mulder touched his finger to a blurry white spot on the 16-week ultrasound.  “Is that…”

 

“I think it’s the umbilical cord,” she answered.  “I’m not sure.”

 

“I know you said you wanted to be surprised, but...next week The Little Turnip is going to be a Bell Pepper.  I want to stop thinking of it as a vegetable and more like a person. I don’t want to think of It as an it at all.”  Off the somewhat guilty expression on Scully’s face, he cocked his head. “You already know?”

 

“Of course I don’t know.”

 

“Then what’s that look?”

 

“I’ve had my own...name, I guess you’d call it, for the baby.”

 

“A name?  What is it?”

 

She smiled a little as she looked down and ran a hand over her belly.  “Kit,” she said, taking only the slightest of glances up at Mulder. 

 

“Kit?”

 

“A kit is…”

 

“A baby fox, I know.”  He paused for a moment with his lips pursed.  “You don’t actually want to name the kid Kit do you?”

 

“No.”  She chuckled.  “Kit is just...slightly better than It.  Or Kumquat.”

 

“You sure you don’t want to find out?”

 

She sighed.  “I thought I wanted to be surprised, but…”

 

“...but it’s like every time we step into the doctor’s office, she has a secret she’s not telling us?”

 

“Quite frankly it’s pissing me off.”

 

Mulder laughed and nodded.  They moved out to the porch where the sun streamed down invitingly and Scully sat sideways in his lap, the phone in her hand, speaker on, as they found out they were having a girl.  She disconnected the call, wrapped her arms around Mulder’s neck, and leaned her forehead against his. He could feel the tears drip down her cheeks onto his own.

 

“Looks like Kit is a Kitty,” he said.

 

With the gender no longer a mystery, and the swell of Scully’s stomach becoming more pronounced, Mulder would toss out names while he read, his hand resting gently on the curve of her belly, hoping for some sort of sign that the baby liked what she heard, a flutter or movement, maye a kick.

 

“Calliope?” he asked.

 

“Mulder, no,” Scully answered.

 

“We could call her Callie.”

 

“Last month you said we should pick a nice normal name that isn’t associated with any of the ghosts of our past.”

 

“I don’t have any ghosts named Calliope.”

 

“I was emphasizing normal.”

 

“Calliope is pretty normal.”

 

“Maybe for ancient Greeks, not for little girls in 21st century America.”

 

“Persephone?”

 

“You really need to move on from the mythology.”

 

Just to make Scully laugh, he started to throw out some of the most ridiculous names and then argue their merits for fun.  He spent nearly ten minutes one night defending Brexit as an appropriate portmanteau for a baby girl exiting the womb into freedom, until he became afraid that he was doing such a good job of it that Scully was actually falling for his bull shit and had to suddenly backtrack.  When he finally caved on the name and admitted it was a joke, she gave him a rather sly grin.

 

“Had you big time,” she said.

 

“Jesus, Scully, you had me worried there for a minute that she was going to have to introduce herself to all the other little preschoolers as Brexit Scully.”

 

“Brexit Mulder.”

 

“I get it.  Only serious names from now on, I swear.”

 

“No, I mean...she’s your...she’s a Mulder.  I want her to have your name.”

 

“Oh.”  He nodded and swallowed, for some reason feeling like he might cry.  “Oh. Okay. Are you sure about that?”

 

“Of course I’m sure.”

 

Mulder started offering names up for serious consideration after that.  He bought a baby name book online and started taking notes, only throwing possibilities out when he grew really attached to something.  For days at a time, he would test a name in his mind to see if he could get it to stick. She was April for a few days, Sadie for nearly a week.  Felicity lasted less than 24 hours, only because it took too long to say. Aurora faded into Rory and then faded out altogether. Charlotte came and went several times.

 

She was Molly when he felt her kick for the first time.  They were in bed, half-asleep as a nice and cool September breeze wafted through the slightly cracked window.  Mulder was spooned behind Scully, caressing her rounded belly in soft circles when something tapped against his palm.

 

“Scully, was that…?”

 

Drowsily, Scully took Mulder’s hand and moved it to the side, somewhere between her hip and her ribs.  She pressed down against his fingers and after a few moments, he felt another thump against his hand.

 

“She’s gonna be a soccer player,” he said.

 

“Or a boxer,” Scully mumbled.  “That’s her fist, not her foot.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Mmhm.”

 

“How can you tell?”

 

Scully moved Mulder’s hand over to the other side where he could feel the faintest outline of a foot pressing back.  He traced over it with his fingertip in the dark.

 

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

 

“No, it doesn’t hurt.”

 

It was shortly thereafter, when the doctor thought that the baby’s heartrate was a little low at Scully’s seven month check-up, that Mulder thinks the change began.  They were both assured that they shouldn’t worry, that it was still within the normal range, but that they should come back biweekly for some extra monitoring just to be on the safe side.  It was around then, when he looks back, that Scully seemed to start going through the motions with an air of detachment to everything.

 

They’d been working for a few weeks on clearing out the office and selecting furniture and paint colors.  Yellow had been the color they both agreed on, but the particular shade of yellow was another story. Scully thought the Pale Daffodil shade that Mulder liked was too loud, and Mulder thought the Light Straw shade that Scully liked was too beige.  The stalemate lasted through the delivery of crib and changing table, but with time running out, Mulder wanted to get paint on the walls and they needed to make a decision.

 

“Just choose,” Scully said.  “It doesn’t matter.”

 

“We could compromise on this Sunshower one, it’s sort of in between.”

 

“Whatever you think, it’s fine with me.”

 

It became her answer for everything that needed a decision.  She deferred to Mulder and said whatever he thought was fine.  She stopped giving her input on things and her interest in all the little tasks they had been doing to prepare for the baby practically ceased to exist.  

 

At the time, he chalked up the fact that she no longer sat on the porch in the morning, stroking her belly and whispering to the baby, to the change of weather.  It was too cold to sit outside, so that must have been why she stopped. She was anxious for the crib to be set up and to put all the little onesies and booties and hats in their drawers before the baby got here, that’s why she relented on the paint color.  She was exhausted, just a third trimester thing, that’s why she closed her eyes and kept quiet through his nightly reading to the baby and why she no longer participated in the name game.

 

She went into labor three weeks early and woke Mulder at 3 a.m. to inform her her water broke and they needed to get to the hospital.  He coached her through the pushing and breathing, all the while feeling incredibly inadequate to the task, but at 9:14 a.m., their beautiful, red-faced, dark-haired little cantaloupe was born.  After Mulder cut the cord, she was checked over, wiped down, warmed up, and swaddled in what seemed like ten seconds before she was placed in his arms.

 

“Wow,” Mulder whispered, staring down at the baby.  She was small, but perfect. “What should we name her?”

 

“You choose,” Scully said.  At the time, Mulder thought she might be giving him the honor of naming their daughter since she had named their son.

 

“I bet you wouldn’t say that if Brexit Mulder was still on the table,” he said.

 

“I trust you.”

 

“I’m still torn between Charlotte and Molly.”  

 

Mulder stared at the baby and tried to imagine what she’d look like in a year’s time, in ten years, twenty.  She had a head full of wispy dark hair with golden tips. She had his mouth, but thankfully her nose seemed to be her own, small and slightly upturned.  When she opened her eyes, he could see Scully in her sleepy and unfocused gaze.

 

Later, while Scully slept, and Mulder filled out the birth certificate, he realized that Molly Kit Mulder was born on October 13.  He shared a birthday with his daughter. It was the best gift he’d ever received.

 

A month after bringing Molly home, the wrongness began to hit Mulder full force.  He wouldn’t say that Scully didn’t care for the baby. No, she certainly fed her when she cried, changed her when she was wet, bathed her carefully in the little tub they set up in the sink, but everything seemed to be done with a lack of joy and affection.  He was just so wrapped up in the strangeness of caring for a newborn, that he failed to notice it at first.

 

He was the one that cooed and made faces at the baby, held her throughout the day in the little sling that secured her to his chest so he could go about his chores with his hands free, and danced with her when she cried.  He was the one that kissed her toes and marveled at the shape of her brows and poked at her little rosebud mouth until she drooled and blew bubbles at him. Not once had he heard Scully talk to the baby, call her by name, or even read the beloved copy of Goodnight Moon that waited for her in the nursery, what Scully claimed had been William’s favorite.  She barely looked at her, never touched her more than what was necessary, and always passed her off to Mulder’s waiting arms like it was a bit of a relief to do so.

 

A four a.m. wake up call only means one thing.  Molly is hungry. Mulder gets up, pads over to the bassinet at the foot of the bed, and lifts his squalling daughter up to his shoulder to rub her back.

 

“I know,” he whispers.  “It’s okay, we’ll get you to Mommy.”

 

Scully has already rolled over and unbuttoned her nightshirt before Mulder lays the baby down at her chest.  Her eyes are closed, almost like the act of feeding the baby is unconscious and requires no effort. It’s Mulder that makes sure Molly is positioned appropriately to slake her hunger.  It’s Mulder that burps her when she’s done, changes her, and sways her back to sleep. 

 

His concern grows.  He’s seen her handle babies she doesn’t even know with more interest and affection than their daughter.  He also knows, even though he only had 48 hours of experience to go on, there was a warmth that shined from her with William that doesn’t exist with Molly.

 

In the predawn light, as Mulder watches Scully sleep, he thinks of non-threatening ways to get to the bottom of the matter.  When her lashes start to flutter and her mouth opens in a yawn, he scoots closer and hooks his thigh over her knee. He strokes her hair away from her forehead and then rubs the back of her shoulder.

 

“Not for two more months,” she mumbles, blindly pushing softly at his hip.  “And you still need to make an appointment for your vascect-”

 

“I’m not trying to initiate sex,” he interrupts softly.

 

“Hm.  Okay.”  She snuggles closer to his chest and wraps an arm around him.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks.  All his elaborate plans for skirting the issue go out the window.  He chooses to be as direct as possible, no matter what happens.

 

Her brows move together and she opens her eyes a little.  “I’ve only just woken up.”

 

“Maybe you don’t even realize it, Scully, but there is something wrong.”

 

He feels her start to pull away, but he holds on.  He puts his hand on her cheek and he knows that she knows what he’s talking about because she doesn’t look at him.  She keeps her eyes downcast, her brow tense, and stays quiet.

 

“Talk to me,” he whispers.  

 

“I can’t.”

 

Mulder sighs and let’s go.  He sits up quickly, crawls to the foot of the bed and kneels to slide Molly up into his arms.

 

“What’re you doing?” Scully whispers.  “Don’t wake her.”

 

“I’m not.”  

 

He can’t resist the softness of the baby’s cheeks though and has to pause to pepper her face with tiny kisses before he breathes in the smell of her sleep-warm neck.  Molly makes a small noise of discontent and squirms a little, but doesn’t wake. Mulder walks back to Scully on his knees and tries to give her the baby, but she shakes her head.

 

“Why?” Mulder asks.  “You don’t look at her.  You don’t talk to her. You don’t say her name.  You don’t smell her head, and oh my God, Scully, I promise you she has the sweetest smelling head you could ever imagine.”

 

“Don’t ask me this, Mulder.  Please. Just drop it.”

 

“She’s not William.”

 

“That’s the problem!” Scully shouts, startling Molly out of sleep with a sharp cry.

 

“Shhh,” Mulder soothes, watching helplessly as Scully scrambles out of bed and slams the door to the bathroom shut behind her.

 

He could follow her.  The lock is broken. He could follow her in and force her to talk to him, but arguing with a screaming baby between them would be futile, so he heads downstairs instead, whispering to Molly that everything is fine, to just close her eyes and go back to dreamland, but the baby knows better.  He puts on a playlist of Elvis songs he made especially to sway Molly to sleep and hums along to Love Me Tender and Are You Lonesome Tonight? before she finally settles and drifts off against his shoulder. He’s content to just go on swaying and humming though, so he doesn’t stop. At some point, during I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You, he hears Scully on the stairs.

 

He turns slowly with the music as Scully holds onto the handrail and slides down to sit on the bottom step.  She watches them with her head resting against the bannister. He moves over to turn off the stereo and stays on the other side of the room.

 

“I can’t do it again,” Scully says, so quietly that Mulder has to strain to hear her.  

 

“Can’t do what again?”

 

“Can’t lose another child.”

 

“You won’t.”

 

“You don’t know that, Mulder.  The threat doesn’t have to come from conspiracy groups or cancerman.”

 

“Cancerman is dead.”

 

“It could be a simple cold that turns into pneumonia.  It could be a car accident. It could be a-”

 

“Stop.  You’re telling me you’re choosing to withhold your love from our daughter because it would hurt too much if, and that’s a big if, something might happen?”

 

“You don’t know what it was like.”

 

“Fuck you,” he hisses, unconsciously covering Molly’s ear from his harsh words.  “I don’t know what it was like? To what, constantly agonize about what I was missing?  Torture myself about whether or not I was doing the right thing? Daydream about birthdays and holidays and t-ball games and family vacations to the beach?”

 

“I’m sorry.”  She nods and lowers her head.  “You’re right.”

 

“We can’t undo what happened to William.  Don’t punish Molly for both of our mistakes.”

 

“I think you already love her enough for the both of us.”

 

“I could love her enough for a billion people, that’s never going to replace her mother, and you know it.”

 

Scully covers her face with her hands and her shoulders shake with a sob.  “I just want it to stop hurting,” she cries. “It hurts so much.”

 

Mulder crosses the room and kneels down in front of the stairs.  He’s surprised that Scully’s crying doesn’t wake the baby, but she stays slack against Mulder’s shoulder.

 

“Look at me,” Mulder whispers.

 

It takes some time, but Scully finally wipes her eyes and takes her hands away from her face.  There is so much pain on her face that it almost knocks the breath out of him. It was beyond clear to him in that moment that William wasn’t a fading scar, he was an open wound.  She’d just managed to keep the bleeding hidden.

 

“You don’t have to let William go,” he says.  

 

“Yes, I do.”

 

“No, you don’t.”

 

“Mulder, he’s gone.”  

 

“I know.  But, Molly is here.  And she’s not William.  Say it. Molly isn’t William.”

 

“Molly isn’t William.”

 

“And we don’t need to let him go.”

 

“He asked me to.”

 

“Listen, no matter what he said he wanted, he was our son.  No matter how he came to be, he was our son. You were his mother.  You always have been. You still are and you always will be.”

 

“I gave him away.”

 

“You wanted a better life for him.”

 

“Was it better?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

It’s a brutal truth, but the fact is, neither of them will ever know what kind of life their son would have led if he’d stayed with them.  It isn’t a thought that ever goes away, but he hasn’t let it pull him down into the depths of despair for some time. He knows that grief is cyclical, that you can move in and out of different stages for months, years, even the rest of your life.  It isn’t Scully’s fault that she feels the way she feels, but it isn’t Molly’s either.

 

Mulder cranes his neck to kiss the crown of Molly’s head and then shifts his hold to offer her to Scully.   “Take her,” he says.

 

Scully is hesitant, but she accepts Molly into her arms once Mulder has maneuvered her from his own.  She stares down at her like it’s the first time she’s ever seen her, but Mulder is fairly certain it’s the first time she’s ever really looked hard.  She runs a finger across the baby’s cheek and her face crumbles.

 

“She’s so beautiful,” Scully chokes out.  “Oh my God, Mulder, I love her so much.”

 

“I know.”  He wipes the tears from her cheeks and presses his forehead against hers.  “I think it might be a good idea if we saw a grief counselor.”

 

“Who would ever understand?”

 

“Grief is a pretty universal language.  It’s not about being understood, it’s about learning how to cope.”

 

Scully closes her eyes and nods a little.  She shifts the baby higher into her arms she she can rest her cheek against her head.  She breathes deeply and sighs.

 

“You’re right,” Scully says.  “Her head does smell really good.”

 

“Just wait until tonight after she’s had her bath.  It’s like heaven.” Mulder stands and makes a little oof noise as his knees creak when he straightens.  Scully reaches out and grabs his hand before he moves away.

 

“Thank you,” she says.

 

“For what?”

 

“Being my partner.  Molly’s father. And William’s.”

 

He squeezes her hand between his own.  “I’m gonna go up and get some more shut eye in before Miss Molly sounds the alarm.  You want to join me?”

 

“I think I’ll stay down here with her.”

 

“Holler if you need me.”

 

At the top of the stairs, Mulder hears Scully whisper quietly to the baby.  “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten to know you,” she says. “But, I want to. I’ll read you Goodnight Moon for you tonight.  Has Daddy read that to you yet? It was your brother’s favorite when he was a baby.”

 

Mulder lays down in bed and exhales what feels like eighteen years of holding his breath.

 

The End

  
  



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